


Storm Shelter

by Flavortext, Fuzzyface, MamzelleCombeferre



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Critical Robin, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, brief mentions of the Iron shepards and injury, no character death referenced
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 08:23:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15725607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flavortext/pseuds/Flavortext, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuzzyface/pseuds/Fuzzyface, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MamzelleCombeferre/pseuds/MamzelleCombeferre
Summary: Yasha is singing. No, she is talking, chanting whatever she was trying to say up to the thunderstorm that called her. From all the late-night watches where Beau couldn’t sleep she remembers having heard the strange music, the language that Yasha and Caleb knew. It makes sense, in a way, even listening to it without much background intensity Beau can feel the shivers down her back. It is otherworldly. It is divine.And so is Yasha.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is part of the Critical Role Round Robin Fic Challenge, where, between July 8th and August 18th 2018, writers started a new fic and then passed it around their group, each writer adding their contribution until the fic went full circle and returned to its original writer. That writer then had to revise and edit the fic into readable shape. This is one result!
> 
> I had the honor of being on #teambeau with the wonderful @criticaldemiplane, @mamzellecombeferre, and @fuzzy-face ! Go check out their works under the #critical robin tag (or check out @bboiseux on tumblr for a list of ALL the fics, which should be up Aug 26th!).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My start to this fic!

Beau isn’t staring. No, staring by definition means you can  _ see _ something in front of you. She can’t see shit. So it’s perfectly okay for her to be looking intently at the spot where Yasha just happens to be, towards the mouth of their tent, still sitting rigged backed, facing away from her. When Jester had come in from first watch and closed the flap of the tent behind her Yasha had had her eyes closed, and hands on her knees in a sort of meditative position. She looked peaceful. 

Beau totally doesn’t have that serene expression on her face memorized and locked away. That would be ridiculous. 

But she is worried. She hasn’t slept since she woke up when Jester came in, and before that she had been restless and turning. A storm had rolled in while they set up camp, and Yasha had gotten quiet. Beau isn’t good enough at reading her to know if this was Yasha-being-Yasha quiet or Yasha-going-to-leave quiet. 

They’d finished their dinner (Beau would never thank Molly out loud for getting those high end rations, but  _ man _ did she appreciate it), decided who would take the watches, and split into their three tents. 

Beau is squished up against the wall, Jester taking up the middle of the tent with her arms splayed out into Beau’s space, but she doesn’t really mind. She’s used to the tiefling by now, shared enough rooms and beds and tents with her that the cold tarp to her back and the cold hand that occasionally brushed her arm aren’t  much of a bother. She can’t sleep because she doesn’t know if she can bear to open her eyes and see Yasha gone again. 

Getting her friends back from the slavers had been a painful ordeal. Fjord was still beat badly, one tusk chipped to the root, and Jester was worn out that once she spent her daily energy trying to heal what she could, she would lie still in the cart and look at the passing clouds, breathing deep fresh air after so long stuck in close quarters or underground. 

Yasha seemed okay. At least in that her bruises were fading now and she was just as ready to swing her sword as she had been before, and she smiled at their jokes sometimes and had spent a night speaking that strange language she and Caleb shared, the two of them flickering silhouettes by the fire, music coming from their lips. 

That wound of losing her friends- she’d thought for good- was too fresh. So Beau stares at the dark space in front of her, keeping her breathing slow and steady, and focuses on the cold brush of skin from Jester’s hand against her forearm, her slight snore, and behind that the steady breath she matched hers to, imagining she could see the outline of Yasha’s shoulders and hair, if the moon had been shining that night. 

The rain starts, prompting Beau to wiggle a bit away from the edge of the tent, carefully moving Jester’s arms back onto her own bedroll. There is a slight shift from Yasha, maybe giving more room on the other side of Jester, not that she would wake up to take it. That girl would sleep through anything. Beau knows she needs to sleep, her eyes starting to get tired again, and she keeps finding them closed and startling, unable to tell the difference in the pitch black. It seems like hours before there is a slight tapping on the tent, followed by the flap being pulled open just a bit. 

“Watch’s up.” Fjord is just barely a shadow against the black sky, and he quicky draws back and stepps aside. Beau fumbles in the dark for her cloak and goggles. Snapping them on and draping the cloth over herself as she steps over Jester and wriggles past Yasha, and emerges out into the cold rain. Fjord gives her a nod, grayscale features heavily shadowed even with the eyewear, and quickly makes his way back to his and Molly’s tent. Nott is just emerging from her and Caleb’s, wrapped in the thick fur cloak they had gotten for the snow, with another piece of cloth held over her head. She doesn’t say anything as she crosses the camp to the back of the cart, lifting herself in with a grunt. Beau takes the dry patch next to her, swinging her legs up to her chest. 

“Is Yasha still here?” Nott says after a while, breaking the monotonous sound of raindrops. 

“So far. Not sleeping.” Beau is surprised at the sadness in her voice. She tries to understand, Yasha had things to do, her time wasn’t her own, as she had said. But it doesn’t change the fact that Beau  _ likes  _ her here, likes her aid in fights and her gentleness and the occasional joke she made, and just her presence, strong and soft and kind, and when she catches Beau staring sometimes she gives a hint of smile or nod that sends butterflies through her chest and stomach. Beau likes all that, and when Yasha is gone she misses her- they  _ all  _ miss her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @criticaldemiplane on tumblr wrote this wonderful chapter!

“I’m sure it’s nothing!” exclaims  Nott, causing Beau to startle and stare at the little goblin. Anxiety is clear in her voice, and Beau winces, realizing her own tension had bled over to the rest of the group. The weight in the air has somehow moved to her chest, slowing her usually dexterous movements. Under her makeshift cloth umbrella Nott watches her nervously.

“Yeah. Probably.”

Beau leans back instead of continuing, using the rainwater to slick back her hair. The cool air feels good against her skin, refreshing after tossing and turning in the sweaty, cramped tent. Beau slowly rotates her shoulder muscles, hoping to get rid of the awful bunched-up feeling. It feels like the ozone of the storm is trailing its skeletal fingers down her spine, paralysing her. “Fuck,” she whispers to no one in particular, and Nott helpfully offers the endless flask, silently encouraging. Beau downs a swig like a shot, nearly missing the rustle of fabric behind them as the burn settles down her throat.

Nott, ever-aware, spins around immediately. Beau follows a second later, grabbing her staff from where it lies in the wet grass. She finds herself staring dumbly into Yasha’s eyes, the heavy tarp of the tent still propped up on the larger woman’s forearm. Nott relaxes, turning around again with a nod, but Beau keeps watching as Yasha carefully lets the tarp fall back and gets properly to her feet, meeting Beau’s gaze for a second with a confused blink.

Beau tries to nod sharply at her, setting her jaw. Just a normal watch night, just a normal interaction between family-companions, whatever. After a brief second Yasha nods back with a softer edge, and, making little noise for her size, begins walking past the tent and towards the edge of the woods.

Beau watches with some alarm, noting the determination to her movements, the flash of the greatsword on her back in the low light. Her  _ sword.  _ Why did Yasha need her sword? Unless--

Before Beau can register what she is doing she is on her feet, heart thumping painfully. Surely she wasn’t leaving again? Not that Yasha has ever given much indication of her comings and goings, but now it is different- it  _ should _ be different. After their ordeal the group has reunited, and the past weeks events have strung Beau through emotions she’d never exercised before, things like  _ connection. _ Like trust in each of the others, in the group, in what they were all making together.

Beau coughs as Nott raises an eyebrow at her sudden movement. “Uh, I’m just gonna.” Beau draws herself up like she had planned all of this, sticking out her chest. “Gonna go take a piss.”

Nott glances backwards, once, at the woods where Yasha has disappeared. The goblin swings back around, taking another long pull off the flask, shrugging. “Is she going again?”

Beau deflates, leaning on her staff for support. They might all know each other  _ too _ well. “Can you just,” she says, hating the vulnerability that crept into her voice, “just stay on watch for me? I’ll be back soon.”

In response Nott simply lifts her flask in salute. Beau, taking the exit, strides towards the woods, and behind her their rogue steals the dry spot from the passing storm.

* * *

 

Fortunately for travel, the place the Nein decided to camp is mostly grasslands, not forest, and the trees are widely spaced. This is unfortunate for Beau, however, as she darts from hiding spot to hiding spot. It isn’t hard to trail Yasha- She is hard to miss in any circumstance- and Beau thanks the Knowing Mistress for her monk training, as not even the foliage underfoot rustles as she stealths forward, a growing anxiety taking root inside her. 

This is stupid. What was she doing? Following her crush through the dark night, for what? Even as she admonishes herself, cold memories spring themselves into Beau’s mind like so many raindrops. Waking up to a missing family, tracking through snow and iron, running away just for a bit to cry and scream and drag her fingers through the permafrost. Pain. Relief. Pain again, at all of their bruises.

Beau hastily wipes the water off her goggles, sidestepping and darting to the next tree. The rough wood chafes against her back and Beau watches Yasha exit the treeline past her vision.

Overhead a crack of thunder booms and Beau winces. The longer the night goes on, the heavier the rain becomes. Far from the slow drizzle back at camp, now the downpour begins anew, and the rain coming through the trees makes the mud stick to Beau’s shoes as she makes it to the treeline.

The forest opens on a vast valley, sloping gently downwards from where she stands. Barely visible through the storm, tall mountains stand in the distance, steel-grey slopes cutting into the softer grey of the sky. The valley itself is bare, dotted with tough pale grass and lichen-covered rocks. There are no trees past the ones Beau hides in, and as thunder rumbles over the mountains a flash of lightning lights up Yasha down below, in front of a small boulder. She is drenched down to the bone, but with her face tilted upwards, serene.

Beau hovers at the edge of the hill, practising what she is going to say. If this is Yasha leaving them again, she’ll respect that. Beau could never begrudge another from freedom under the open skies, remembering her days under the dark roof of her father’s house or locked in with the Cobald Soul. But at least she could say goodbye. Beau doesn’t think she gets to know what Yasha was leaving to do, but there are other things she could ask. Maybe where she was headed, or could she give her something for the road. Get her to promise to stay safe.

Accepting that she is already soaked, Beau prepares to step out of the trees to Yasha, but stops as the woman suddenly raises her arms out to the side, then above her head, palms facing the storm clouds. Her eyes still closed, Yasha pulls the greatsword off of her back, holding it up like a general.

Despite herself, as she watches Yasha hold the sword aloft Beau found herself lit up with interest.  _ This isn’t the time for that, dumbass,  _ she thinks, shaking it off.

The glint of the sword is the brightest thing in the valley, and in her moment of distraction Beau forgets to be worried, forgets about the meaning of storms and metal and the flat open spaces of the world.

**CRR-** **_KOOM_ **

All at once the sky rips itself open and a blinding bolt of lightning arces its way down, striking the sword and enveloping Yasha in all its burning intensity. Beau screams, momentarily without sight, throwing herself against a tree as every bone in her body seems to shake. It is over in a second, the rain paying no mind to the flash and continuing its cold assault.

All too slowly Beau’s vision returns, then her hearing. Her ears ring painfully, but Beau pays them no mind in her desperate, scrambling confusion.  _ Yasha. _ Yasha, no, no no--

Yet in the valley the barbarian stands. She is hunched over, blackened and panting from exertion, but clearly, blessedly alive. Yasha thrusts the sword skyward again, her face a battle-mask of rage and determination so pure it makes Beau freeze. 

She lets her breathing even out, remembering her training. Calm mind, calm body. Whatever was happening here, it is alright. Obviously it is some weird shit, but it is alright. Beau, clinging to her tree, even thinks she understands.

Jester is by far the most outspoken about her celestial connections, of the Nein, but the other’s beliefs creep in in their small ways. They have all grown used to Beau’s references to the Knowing Mistress, Molly’s to the Moonweaver, even Fjord’s strange… weapon absorption.

Yasha is silent about her deity, but doesn’t hide her devotion. The heavy symbol of the Stormlord that adorns her armor serves as a constant silver reminder to her higher calling. They don’t know much of the nature of her oath, but Beau has seen Yasha fiddle with the symbol in quiet moments. Her simple flower-book by her side as Yasha meditated, a small smile on her features. Whoever the Stormlord was to Yasha, Beau likes him by virtue of just how important he us to her friend.

Beau can almost feel the frantic energy from the valley as Yasha stumbles forward, almost to the boulder. The roar of the storm keeps increasing, the clouds swarming over the valley like dragons. More lightning crackles and flashes in the distance, but none strikes again. Yasha raises a muscled arm and clasps both of her hands now, around the hilt. She briefly touches her blade to the boulder and then swings the heavy greatsword skyward again.

The ground itself shakes from the  _ boom _ of thunder that follows. Beau is utterly transfixed as the back of Yasha’s cloak lifts and all the light around her suddenly dims like water thrown on a bonfire. Giant skeletal wings, arching black and ragging to the heavens, stretch out from the barbarian’s shoulder blades. Catching her breath, Beau crouches and shuffles a little closer to the spectacle.

The intimacy of what is happening doesn’t escape her. Even through the cold Beau feels her face flush hot, embarrassment and fear and excitement catching her all at once. She almost turns to leave if only out of respect, but an unexpected sound catches her off-guard.

Through the downpour a musical tone finds her ears. For a moment Beau thinks Yasha is screaming and almost panics again, but her cries are far from pain or despair. Each tone lifts off each previous, stepping, blending in places, like notes, like music.

Yasha is  _ singing. _ No, she is  _ talking, _ chanting whatever she was trying to say up to the thunderstorm that called her. From all the late-night watches where Beau couldn’t sleep she remembers having heard the strange music, the language that Yasha and Caleb knew. It makes sense, in a way, even listening to it without much background intensity Beau can feel the shivers down her back. It is otherworldly. It is  _ divine. _

And so is Yasha.

Yasha is glowing in the valley, communicating with the storm itself, her eyes open and void to the endless chaos above. Her war-chant is so loud Beau was almost amazed none of the camp has come running. Incredulous, she watches as the storm itself seems to solidify in front of Yasha, the rain sliding off and away from a bright light in that forms in front of her, white and burning, directly over the boulder.

The moment the light appears Beau wrenches her head away, knowing from a deep, primal place that this is not hers to see. Yet her limbs shake and her mind rattles and something  _ beyond _ touches the edge of her consciousness, almost totally short-circuiting her thought process and moving her head back just in time for Yasha to bring the sword down.

The greatsword cleaves through the divine light and then through to the  _ boulder itself, _ rending the heavy rock in two massive pieces that shudder from the force of the swing. The shockwave echoes past Beau, and away to the jagged mountain peaks in the distance.

As quickly as the storm had overcome them, the rain thins. The immense thunderheads lose some of their dark color and allow themselves to be blown away from the valley. Beau stays silent, reeling from what had just occurred. Although all she had done was be a witness, she still feels absolutely wrecked, and now the exhaustion overtakes her.

* * *

Beau doesn’t know how much time passes before she finds herself again. She stands up, careful that her knees are no longer trembling.

The rain has stopped. The night is still dark around her, darker still without the lightning to guide. Beau braces herself against her tree and looks back over the valley.

She doesn’t need to look that far. Just a couple feet away Yasha stands, mouth slightly open, face lost. 

Intense embarrassment instantly rockets through Beau, and she sways a little on her feet.  _ Shit, shit shit shit. _

“U-Uh, hey, uh, Yasha… pal…” Beau manages, and then winces. “Um, well, I--”

“Did you follow me?” Yasha cuts her off, although not harshly. Her voice keepst the same soft, bumbling quality that Beau normally eats up with a spoon. Now, though, her stomach drops and her limbs tense. It had always hurt to be stressed, and Beau breathes in, out, in, out.

“I-- yeah. Shit, I’m sorry. I might’ve… trailed you. I didn’t know you were gonna do all of this, um, divine… storm… shit.” 

Yasha turns around to look back to the split boulder, then returns to face Beau. Her long hair, once again white at the tips, swings heavy from the rainwater that soaked it. It smacks the side of her face on the backswing and Beau fights desperately to keep her face out of a grimace.

“Listen,” starts Beau, succumbing to the instinct of rampant anxiety, “We can like, forget this ever happened. I can swear I never saw any of this and--”

“Beau?” Yasha’s confused voice once again cuts through the monk’s ramblings. “Do you mean you saw, um, the whole ritual?” She awkwardly points over her shoulder at the valley.

“Yeah,” says Beau, miserable. Despite the excessive amounts of water everywhere, Beau’s throat feels dry and her answer comes out hoarse and cracked.

This time, Yasha’s voice takes on a more urgent quality, like leftover static. “You... physically saw, Beau? The sword, the, the lightning? All of it?”

“Yes,” replies Beau, still hunched in on herself. “Sorry. I mean, I almost looked away, but it was...” What were even the words she could use for it? It registers in her mind as more of a sense-memory, a picture without a caption. Shocking, bright, beautiful.

“Oh,” Yasha breathes, and turns her head to the sky again. In the darkness the first stars after the storm are shining through, but Yasha ignores them to focus on the grey wisps of cloud that remain. “He let you see,” she says, a note of awe in her voice. “Why would he let  _ you _ see?” She levels her eyes to Beau’s, the teal and violet intense in low light. 

“O...kay,” intones Beau. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but the point is that I’m sorry. I should have left as soon as I saw you were just doing god stuff.”

“But you did follow me,” says Yasha, returning the conversation to the place Beau doesn’t want to go.

Beau argues for herself. “Well, you’ve been quiet, y’know, and you weren’t sleeping, and it’s night and you took your sword with you…”

“When do I ever not bring my sword with me?” says Yasha, an edge of annoyance now creeping past the confusion. She ducks her head, pale brow still furrowed, and rubs at her cheek. Incredibly, Beau realizes that Yasha is embarrassed too, the flush showing easily on her almost-white skin. 

“Why did you think it was your business?” Yasha says eventually, still staring at the ground. Beau, cut,  stands dumbly, utterly unprepared to answer the question. The longer the silence stretches, the more visibly angry Yasha becomes, fists clenching and unclenching. Beau opens her mouth to try to defuse, say something, anything, but the barbarian shoulders past her back into the forest.

It takes a few moments for Beau to re-connect her thoughts and limbs, scrambled by the jumble of emotion and experience. Yasha’s long, purposeful strides carry her a long ways back towards camp, and she fades from Beau’s sight.

_ Move, idiot! _ In a jolt of energy Beau runs, muscles protesting but heart burning. When she catches up, Yasha doesn’t  react until Beau grabs the back of her cloak, pulling on the heavy woolen shawl. Yasha half-spins around, lifting her arm shoulder-height defensively and baring her teeth. Beau jumps but cuts in quickly before she can be dismissed.

“I couldn’t,” gasps Beau. “I thought you were leaving again. I couldn’t stand to see you leave again. I just got you back, Yasha-- I’m so sorry, but I had to know.”

Yasha’s expression is torn, unbelieving and confused.  _ I just got you back.  _ Beau felt the sweat collecting on the back of her neck, realizing her own words. The barbarian lowers her arm and Beau gingerly lets go of her cloak.

“Beau,” says Yasha eventually, and Beau nearly cries in relief at the gentle tone she takes again. “I… I need to think on all of this. We should go back to camp.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sorry,” says Beau. Yasha offers her a small, fleeting smile, and then moves on. Beau tags along behind, to her horror blinking back hot tears. By the gods she manages to keep it together until they return to camp, stumbling a little, Yasha not waiting for her. Nott still sits by the cart.

Beau stares upwards at the now-clear sky. It couldn’t have been more than an hour or two, sure, but it had felt like so much longer. Without a word Yasha crosses to the tent only Jester now occupies and silently squeezes herself in. Feeling flattened and at a loss, Beau makes her way over to the goblin.

As soon as she reached the cart, Beau drops to her hands and knees in the wet dirt, letting the awkwardness wash over her. She tries not to think of what Yasha thinks of her, or what she could have done differently. Heck, how Molly would react if Yasha decides to tell him. There was no use for nightmare scenarios when she was already in a nightmare. When the pain has mostly receded she shifts to sit lotus-style, stretching her stiff legs and pointedly not talking. Nott breaks the silence anyway, a stricken expression on her small face.

“Well, I’m going to assume that that didn’t go as well as we hoped it would,” she says. In response Beau makes a sort of painted grunt.

“I mean,” continues Nott nervously, “I thought you would have just hooked up by now and I was going to offer some advice, but--”

“Please, Nott,” interrupts Beau. She sighed. “Not... now. Please.”

“Alright,” says Nott quietly, more understanding. In apology she stands quietly and drapes her slightly-damp cloth over Beau’s soaked figure, patting down on her hair. Beau mumbles thanks and they returned to staring out into the unknown, waiting until the end of their watch, for dawn to break over the wildflowers.

“Is she going to sleep now?” whispers Nott.

“I don’t know, Nott,” says Beau, tired. The only thing she knows is that she has majorly fucked up, and that she has to fix it. Some spark of cunning in Beau’s mind tells her that she isn’t getting the full picture, but she doesn’t know where to start to complete it. No matter what, though, she resolves to make it up to Yasha. Beau feels as though that was what family would do. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @mamzellecombeferre wrote this wonderful chapter!

Beau doesn’t much believe in miracles, but when Yasha walks out of the tent that morning, still with them, Beau would have willingly staked her life on their existence. She is still here, and with that knowledge Beau feels the knot in her chest and stomach untangle just a little, filling her with heady relief. Relief that comes crashing down when she remembers what had happened the night before. Somehow, even after all that had gone down, she still managed a few hours of unsettled rest. The rain had stopped, leaving the sky cloudless and blue, the sun shining down in a way that helped ward off the chill.

 

The grass, still slightly damp, soaks into the bottoms of her slippers as she attempts to complete her morning stretches despite the anxiety brewing in her gut like fizzy bubbles. She feels hungover almost, her head still hurt from the lightning flash, and her body sore from tossing and turning all night. She wobbles a little as she switches her balance from one leg to the other. Caleb gives her a weird glance but continues to pack, while Molly sidles up beside her, placing a hand on her elbow to steady her.

“Careful unpleasant one,” The tiefling says, flashing a characteristic smirk. Beau wants to wipe it off his smug face, the purple asshole.

She glares ahead, using every ounce of self-control not to rip her arm way, thus throwing off her balance all over again. “Not today Molly.” She growls, her voice low and rougher than usual. 

The tiefling is obnoxiously bright all the time, but especially so when everyone was still drowsy from the stormy night and the early morning start.  He opens his mouth as if to continue, but something in her eyes must have told him now was not the time to push her buttons further. Say what you would about him, and Beau would, but Molly knew when to stop, a fact she appreciated more than she would ever be willing to admit to him.

Especially now as he follows her gaze to where it lands on the large barbarian, skirting the perimeter of the camp before setting a hand on Fjord’s shoulder. The two had a whispered conversation that Beau couldn’t hear from her distance, but that resulted in Fjord leaving the rest of the tents to Yasha, instead joining Jester over by the horses.

Beau can’t help but stare. How anyone ever got anything done in the presence of such an angel was beyond her. Her eyes catch on the way Yasha’s back muscles move as she lifts the pile of canvas and poles to carry it towards the cart. Her body is a goddamn symphony, like the kind her father used to take her to when she was a little kid and not jaded yet. Everything worked together perfectly, not a single part out of place. It is beautiful. It is disconcerting.

It must show on her face, because Molly makes a low sympathetic noise only Beau can hear. She looks away now, cheeks warm from having been caught in her adoration. When it becomes clear Beau isn’t going to humor him though, he walks off to help Caleb pack the rations and put out the fire.

 

Her stomach churns, but she sighs, closing her eyes.

 

_ Breathe _

 

She holds her arms out to either side, stretching them upwards in a half circle motion, before meeting palms together at the center of her chest.

 

_ Breathe _

 

The lightning strikes behind her eyelids again. The sound of a bell-like chat, preternaturally loud over the torrential downpour rings in her ears. She shakes her head slightly to clear the image, humming softly under breath. If she doesn’t focus now, she’ll never get this done, and while Beau would never say it, her day feels incomplete without this morning ritual.

 

_ Breathe _

 

Fjord falls into a sneezing fit and her focus shatters. The sudden noise startles her so badly she wobbles again. An undignified squawk noise flew out as she desperately tries to settle herself, failing and instead toppling hard onto her ass.

A look of amusement flashes over Yasha’s features, so quick Beau almost misses it, and she felt her own face go red again, deeper and hotter this time, stretching to the tips of her ears. Molly snickers and even Caleb has to hide an amused grin before turning to Fjord to apologize for the cat dander on his and Nott’s shared tent, and packs, and clothing. Fjord just audibly and wetly sniffs in response, holding a hand to his side where Jester had only just declared him healed last night. Boats were famous for having cats on them, at least Beau thought she remembered reading that somewhere. How the half-orc had ever survived living on one escapes her.

She lies back in the dew covered grass, letting it cool the blush that had now spread across the back of her neck too, and groans just loud enough for only herself to hear. No doubt Jester would have laughed too if she were not concentrating on making sure Fjord hadn’t reinjured himself with his sneezing. They were both still smiling though, if not as overtly as the others.

They were both in such bad shape still. For all the embarrassment she felt, if it made either of them smile, well then Beau would fall on her ass a million times over.

She lies there for a few moments longer, just enough for everyone’s attention to turn elsewhere again, then braces herself and stands. Her ego stings more than her lower back, but that is just one more thing for the list of things she’ll never admit out loud. Her gaze turns to Yasha again, who is now helping Jester take inventory of her eye-sore of a pink haversack, while Fjord watches on fondly from where he sits on the edge of the cart, and Nott tries to stealth a pastry from one of Jester’s many pouches.

 

Yasha. The barbarian looks no different than usual, and for a brief moment Beau feels a sting of resentment that even after all that had gone down, even after being struck by literal fucking lightning, Yasha still looks so perfect, especially because Beau knows that she, herself, looks wrecked to shit. The resentment dissipates almost as soon as it bubbles up though, replaced by another pang of shame as she catches Yasha’s eyes on her now. She looks curious, like Beau is a puzzle she’s trying to put together.

Beau doesn’t think of herself as very complicated. Sure there is more going on under her surface than she usually lets on, but she generally considers herself an open book kind of person. She’d think she’d made her feelings very clear, but Yasha seemed equally confused by her at every turn. It’s an odd and unfamiliar, if not a little pleasantly vindicating, feeling to be looked at with such curiosity when so many people in Beau’s life acted like they knew everything about her from one interaction. Yasha turns away again, a rosy pink dusting over her own pale cheeks now.

 

Gods she is beautiful.

 

With no time to restart her stretching, Beau busies herself instead with packing the last bits and bobs of the camp. She helps Jester finish with the horses, more often than not coming up behind her to re-bridle them after Jester slips the wrong buckles into the wrong spots in her distraction. The last of it finished, they set back on the road now. The road stretches clear and far ahead of them, and the sky is open, bright, and warm. Her friends, nee, _ family, _ are all back with her. She takes a deep breath, concentrating for a moment on just the movement of W.C. beneath her. From where they are now, Beau estimates another three or four days of travel before they reached Zadash again. Plenty of time to think about how to make it up to Yasha.

Beau knows a beautiful woman when she sees one. She has been with a lot of beautiful people, asshole behavior on her part or not. She has grown up surrounded by beautiful things. Not a single one of them compares to Yasha. She is worth ten times any girl Beau had ever seen or interacted with, more than the richest wine and the nicest houses. She is worth the sun and the moon and every little star that flickered in the dark.

 

She is worth an apology; however difficult Beau finds them to be.

Ioun help her she would make herself a fool for this woman if it would make the slightest difference.

She just needs a plan. Apologies didn’t come naturally to Beau. Gods knows her father never made them, and Beau has little memory of her mother. The criminals she had buddied with in her younger years had little acquaintance with the concepts of taking fault or saying sorry as well.

Normally Beau would go to Fjord for help in these situations, but that would likely lead to questions from the half-orc, too curious for his own good. No, she had already betrayed Yasha’s trust once, and she wouldn’t do it again. Not if she could help it. Beau was smart, she could figure this out on her own.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @Fuzzy-Face wrote this wonderful chapter! This fic is almost over, let's get these to wlw together.

Beau doesn’t mean to fall asleep, it just happened. Their traveling days were noticeably more quiet recently, even with everyone trying hard to pretend that they were all okay now. Nobody talks much as they amble their way through the empty countryside, and the motion of the wagon is calming if not exactly gentle, and before she knows it she nods off against the pile of tent bags.

She dreams of storms. Nothing that made any real sense, just the feeling of being caught in an unrelenting torrent of rain and wind. She can’t move, isn’t even sure if she is really  _ there _ or just observing in a trance. Lightning splits her vision and for some reason, the old adage from her childhood comes to her. Count the beats, see how close the storm is.

_ One, two, three, four- _

Thunder echos somewhere in the distance. She tries to follow the sound, noticing a faint light among the boiling dark clouds. Lightning strikes, again before she can make out any details.

_ One, two, three- _

Some kind of shape forms on the horizon, or at least it seems to. Every time she looks it ix just a haze of white light amidst the swirling grey. A deep, primal feeling of unease creeps up her spine, and then everything is blotted out by lightning once more.

_ One, two- _

A bright ethereal light seems to both surround her and approach her all at once as the storm reached a violent head, wind crying out unendingly. Beau tries desperately to close her eyes but her body doesn’t seem to be obeying her commands, and she wonders once again if she is even physically present. A bolt of lightning hits what feels like just in front of her.

_ One- _

Somebody is shaking her awake.

She jerks upright, nearly whacking her head against the side of the wagon. It really is her day to embarrass herself in front of everyone, isn’t it? She pushes herself into a more dignified sitting position, blinking and wrinkling her nose as she tries to reorient herself to the waking world. The cold sting of rain still prickles at her skin.

It takes her a moment to realize that her eyesight isn’t coming back for a reason. The sky is pitch black, the moon just a tiny, useless sliver over their heads.  _ Shit _ . She hadn’t meant to sleep for so long. Or at all, actually.

It takes her several more moments to realize that the faintly-glowing eyes staring at her from several feet away were two different colors.

“Hey,” she breathes, voice rough from sleep. Yasha blinks at her, and Beau can hear more than see when she shifts backwards slightly. The cart dips  under her weight. “What did you- uh, I mean, do you need-”

“You were shaking,” Yasha mercifully cuts her off. “In your sleep.”

“Oh,” Beau replies eloquently. The memory of her dream is already fading and now she is left with nothing but a confused - concerned? - barbarian hovering over her personal space. “Yeah, uh, that happens sometimes. You know… dreams.”

Yasha blinks at her, expression unchanging. 

“I’m fine,” she adds quickly, trying to smile easily for good measure.

“That is… good,” Yasha says finally, voice low and soft, and Beau’s relief fights viciously with her disappointment as the woman backs away. She settles herself back on the other side of the cart, in the same stoic position that Beau had watched her hold the night before.

_ Say something _ , Beau’s mind screams at her, because that’s exactly what she didn’t do before and she’s certain it’s why everything went to shit. “It’s not raining tonight,” she blurts out, mouth working faster than her brain as always.

Yasha doesn’t startle, just glances almost imperceptibly in her direction. “Yes, it’s quiet,” she replies finally.

She watches the placid set of Yasha’s shoulders, the way her head tips slightly up to the sky. “Do you like it better when it rains?”

“No,” Yasha replies after a long pause, either deciding on an answer or deciding whether to answer. “I don’t mind the weather.”

“Right, yeah, me either.” Beau doesn't even know what she is saying anymore, she is just opening her mouth and desperately filling the silence. She clears her throat and sits up a little straighter, glancing around a little more clearly with what bit her eyes have adjusted. A few paces away from the cart, the barely-smouldering remains of a fire crackle, illuminating the shapes of several bodies curled on the ground. Yasha is the only one awake. “So, you’re on watch?”

“We both are,” she says nonchalantly, and then must have caught Beau’s stunned expression. She ducks her head slightly. “I, um, I didn’t want to wake you up, so-”

“Yeah, no, that’s fine,” Beau says hoarsely. She firmly resists the urge to curl her knees up to her chest in a miserable ball of self-loathing. What was she doing?  _ Of course _ Yasha doesn’t want to speak to her after how badly she’d fucked-up. And she hasn’t even  _ apologized _ for it yet. No wonder she’d rather sit on watch alone. And here Beau is, bothering her anyway like an inconsiderate dick. She swallows back against the bitterness in her throat.

Yasha is still and silent beside her. She is stunning, even in the near total darkness, and Beau feels miserable once again at the thought that she may have ruined their relationship - whatever it was - forever. They are the only conscious souls in the night, and she has already opened her mouth plenty. The call to  _ say something _ is like a palpable tug at her lungs. She can fix this now. She can at least  _ try _ -

“Beau?” Yasha’s voice is quiet; even so, Beau jumps more than a little at the sound. 

“Yeah?”

“Can you-” Yasha hesitates  for a moment, biting her lip, and Beau feels  like she could die then and there. “Can you wake Jester up? I think it’s her turn to watch now.”

Without another word, the barbarian springs lightly from the cart and vanishes into the shadows around the fire. Beau stares after her, dumbfounded. She presses her palms over her eyes, biting back a shout of frustration, before rolling over and shaking Jester awake with a vengeance.

* * *

 

The end of the next day finds them close enough to Zadash to see the city on the horizon, but still not quite close enough to make it there before the sun started to set. The frustration of having to spend yet another night sleeping on the ground isn’t lost on anyone. They deal with it in their own ways. Beau takes a long, fruitless walk before returning to find Jester hacking viciously into an oak tree with her handaxe.

“Firewood?” She asks, approaching somewhat cautiously. Jester isn’t exactly known for her precision on the backswing.

“Eventually!” She huffs in reply, burying the blade into the trunk once more.

“Cool,” Beau says quietly, leaning back on her heels to watch. The effortless surge of Jester’s muscles is always impressive, but Beau can’t find it in her to be interested today. “Hey, if I asked you to give someone a message for me, would you do it?”

“Well, I am a  _ little _ busy,” Jester says with another spray of wood chips.

“I know but it’s like, important,” Beau says, more to the ground than the tiefling. Jester’s axe strikes in the tree and stays there as she turns to give Beau a doubtful look. “Please?” She tries.

Jester sighs loudly, surrendering the axe and wiping her hands roughly off on her skirt. “ _ Fine _ , but you owe me later.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Beau says, waving her hand dismissively.  “When Yasha gets back from, uh, wherever she wandered off to, can you tell her to come meet me at the bottom of the cliff over there?”

“Why?” Jester asks. At Beau’s firm silence, she quickly amends, “Or, what is the  _ why _ you want me to tell her?”

“Gods, I dunno. Tell her I’m getting firewood and I need help.” Beau shakes her head, scowling to herself. “No, shit, that’s what you’re doing.”

“I could tell her that you fell down the rocks and you need healing.” Jester pauses, face falling into an annoyed pout. “Oh, that is also my job, isn’t it.”

“Listen, just,” she takes a breath, got out the rest of the words in a rush, “just tell her I need to talk to her.”

“Okay,” Jester says slowly, drawing out the word. It isn’t quite teasing but it’s close enough that Beau wants to disappear into the ground. “I’ll tell her when she gets back.”

“Cool, yeah, alright,” Beau tries and fails not to audibly sigh in relief. Jester sends her that familiar look that says she is thinking more deeply than she should be, and Beau ducks her head quickly away. “Uh, thanks,” she mumbles quickly.

Jester grunts in assent, resuming her woodcutting with new fervor. Beau slips away through the trees, skirting the rest of the camp with relative ease. Nobody is exactly straining themselves to go find out where she’d wandered off to. Frankly, she likes it that way.

She cuts around the cliff’s edge, where the hillside slopes gently down into the valley. The grasses are tall here, almost to her knees in places, and freckled with little patches of bright flowers. It isn’t the sort of place that Beau has much interest in herself but, well, she has an idea of someone who might.

She eases herself carefully up onto one of the rocks that line the cliffside, forcing herself to settle into a meditative pose. She can’t manage much more than that though; one eye shooting open every time she hears so much as the faintest sound, pretty effectively keeping her from reaching any sort of tranquility. She sighs, giving up the act and resting her chin on her knees.

She wishes time would go a little faster. The longer she sits there, the more time the tension in her shoulders has to drift down to her stomach and settle into real, actual anxiety. She hates it. If she can’t get through this - whatever this is going to be - on whatever bravado she still has left, she isn’t going to get through it at all.

She wonders if she should pick some flowers.

Beau isn’t usually one to rush things. Talking through things - actually,  _ really _ talking shit out - was hard enough already, and she was a firm believer that everything went a lot smoother if it happened at the right time. Usually, that meant at least somebody was drunk or coming down from a good fight or at least in a damn good mood. Words just seemed to come easier then.

She doesn’t have that luxury now, though, and the restlessness in her head wont let her forget it. She has no idea how this will go, or how much further she’ll stick her foot in her mouth. But she doesn’t have a choice, because Yasha is leaving again soon. She hadn’t said so, but Beau knows all the same. It wouldn’t even matter, would just be part of a familiar pattern, except - 

Except, with everything that has happened, she isn’t sure she would come back this time.

A raindrop lands on the end of her nose. She sniffs, wipes it off, and two more land on her forehead. Beau glances up into what had been a clear evening sky and saw wisps of dark grey clouds beginning to snuff out the remaining sunlight.

“Oh hells,” she mutters.

She toughs it out for a good three minutes before the feeling of her robes growing damp and heavy against her skin is more uncomfortable than bruised pride. It isn’t hard to find a place to duck and shelter, at least; a small moss-lined cave in the side of the cliff, sheltered by a massive gnarled tree. Small comforts.

She balances on her balls of her feet, crouching amongst the rocks and lichen as she watches the storm roll in over the little valley. It isn’t the torrent that she’d witnessed the night before, but it is enough that water is pooling in around her boots, and she swears she can almost hear Fjord cursing out their inability to keep a fire lit tonight. Somewhere far off, thunder rumbles gently.

Beau tries to make out any shapes through the rain that might  be tall and imposing. Nothing but shadows. She wishes her chest wouldn’t flutter so hard every time she saw one, though, because it isn’t helpful in the slightest. Just confusing and at least a little upsetting.

A yellow wildflower bobs in and out at the entrance of her tiny shelter, bouncing under the assault of the rainfall. She plucks it deftly, spinning it lightly between her fingers and watching water droplets flick from the petals. She pulls one free and let it fall to the floor, thinking of old kids games and dumb superstitions. She pulls another, and another.

_ She hates me, she hates me not, she hates me, she hates me not, she hates me, she - _

“Hey.” Beau almost jumps out of her skin at the sound. Why did her monk training never seem to work when she actually needs it? The two multicolored eyes and the glint of polished steel staring at her from the mouth of the cave don’t help her heart slow down. Yasha looks somewhat apologetic, crouching down to be level with Beau. “I couldn’t see you.”

“Oh sorry, uh,” Beau gestures helplessly to the valley outside. “Rain,” she finishes lamely.

“Right,” Yasha said, water dripping from the ends of her hair. She takes an awkward step forward into the shelter, freezing as her sword catches against the lip of the rock. With a grunt of frustration, she unslings it and lets it lean against the cliffside before ducking in properly. She looks almost comical in the small space, legs folded awkwardly beneath her and head nearly skimming the ceiling. “Listen, Beau-”

“Wait, wait,” Beau cuts her off immediately, wincing apologetically at the flustered look on the barbarian’s face but plowing ahead regardless. She is done with not being able to get any words out when they matter. “I probably deserve whatever you’re going to say to me but just, hear me out first?”

Yasha stares at her, expression unreadable, before shifting her gaze firmly to her lap. Outside, thunder crackles, closer this time.

“Please?” She tries finally.

“Beau, I can’t,” Yasha says softly, and Beau stills, all the words she’d meant to say catching in a useless jumble in her throat before vanishing. A cold bead of dread runs from her neck down her spine. She opens her mouth to reply, but Yasha beats her to it.

“I have to leave again. Now. I just,” she curls her hands against the dirt floor, staring at them like they are infinitely more interesting to look at than Beau’s eyes. “Jester told me you were here. I didn’t want to leave you waiting.”

“Now?” Is all Beau can get out, her voice jumping a note higher than usual. Yasha still wont meet her gaze, instead slowly standing up as much as the little cavern would allow. Getting up to leave, Beau realizes. Her heart catches in her throat.

“Wait,” she blurts out, and the barbarian pauses. The weak grey light from outside catches on the fur of her shawl and the stray hairs that frame her head. She is ethereal and beautiful and she is  _ leaving _ and Beau knows she can’t find the words to make her stay. “Yasha, I-”

Something explodes outside.

Beau’s instincts catch up to her before her mind does. She’s on her feet and moving even as the impossibly bright flash of light has her seeing stars. Her arms close around some fleshy part of Yasha’s body - her stomach maybe, or her legs, Beau can’t see shit - and she hauls the woman backwards with a surprising burst of strength. She almost definitely pulls something, but that is nothing to the blaze of pain as the two of them collide against the rock floor in a tangle of limbs. The breath leaves her lungs in a rush.

Her vision comes back before the feeling in her body does, and the first thing she registers is the lick of flames in the otherwise pitch darkness. A bubble of panic rises in her chest, but before she can get back enough air to give voice to it the fire is dying away under the steady hiss of the rain. It sputters out in a matter of seconds, leaving behind the thick smell of smoke and ash, and darkness.

Yasha stirrs slightly on top of her, and Beau finally registers  _ Yasha on top of her _ . She makes an effort to wiggle out from under her and oh, gods, that just makes it worse. Yasha finally seems to come back to consciousness enough to have the same realization, and, with a grunt of effort, the crushing weight finally leaves her chest. Beau sucks in a painful breath, like swallowing glass.

“Are you okay?” She manages to grind out, forcing herself to sit up. Her entire upper body throbs with pain, and she imagines her back is going to be a canvas of bruises tomorrow. As much as she hates to admit it, she isn’t built to be cushioning anybody’s fall.

“Yes,” Yasha replies shortly, and it isn’t hard to hear the bite of pain in her voice. Beau hears the woman moving more than she sees her, and it finally dawns on her that the faint light from the mouth of the cave is gone now.

“Shit,” she whispers hoarsely. She stumbles forward on her hands and knees, moving in what she hopes is the right direction. Yasha’s eyes worked no matter what, and the last thing Beau needs right now is for her to see her walk face-first into a wall of rock.

Her hands skim across the floor of the cave, bump over the moss-covered walls, and finally collide with something unfamiliar. Rough and textured, and damp under her hands. The bark of a tree. The smell of fresh smoke still hangs in the air.

She rams her shoulder against the fallen giant, pushing at it with vicious force, like she doesn’t know it probably weighs half a ton. Nothing. She slumps back, panting, fresh pain shooting through her arm. Through the smallest cracks between the scorched wood and the cave mouth, she can see the faint remains of the dying sunlight, and hear the muffled sounds of rain.

“Shit,” she says again, and this time the response is a hesitant hand on her shoulder.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My last addition to this wonderful fic we have dubbed "storm shelter"! Again, working with these amazing people has been so fun, our weekly live chat of the episodes helped get us through the sadness, and I am so excited to see the finished products of this teams and the others efforts!
> 
> Now here's some gays

“Just, wait a second.” Yasha squeezes her shoulder, and something about her voice makes Beau’s panic subside enough for her to breathe properly. She leans against the wet bark of the tree, half hoping it might budge, and squints to make out Yasha in the little dim light.

“I wanted to talk to you. We can deal with that in a minute.” Yasha is still standing with her hand on Beau. They both catch their breath for a moment. 

“Yeah- okay.” Beau goes to move Yasha’s hand off of her on reflex and catches herself, selfishly wanting to prolong the contact. The grip on her shoulder softens but stays. 

“I really do have to go- I can’t, I can’t tell you where. Yet. Someday.” Yasha sighs heavily. “I promise.” She says those last words so quiet Beau barely hears them over the rain. Beau kicks herself into gear, spilling out the half-rehearsed apology that had run through her head before the rain started. 

“I wanted to apologize. For following you the other day- I wasn’t thinking, and it was none of my business. You’re free to come and go as you need to. And- I just- I followed you because I at least wanted to, you know- to say goodbye?” Beau trails off, squeezing her eyes shut and fighting off the wetness in her voice. 

“I know.” Yasha says after a moment. “That’s why I came- I wanted to... to let you know I’ll be back, I’m not mad at you.” Yasha squeezes Beau’s shoulder again, free hand fiddling with the symbol on her belt. “If the Stormlord trusted you to see all that, then it’s okay. You meant no harm, and I’m sorry I was rude. I haven’t shared him, my relationship, devotion, whatever, with anyone.” Yasha’s hand falls away, she hugs herself and rocks on her heels for a second. “I’m glad you saw it, I think. It makes it feel more real.” Beau lets out a breath she’s been holding. 

“That’s good, yeah.” Beau mimics Yasha’s posture without thinking. “Thank you, for saying goodbye.” 

“Yes. Let’s- the tree.” Yasha moves to Beau’s side, experimentally shoving her weight against the trunk. There’s a slight shift of wood against stone, and Beau throws her weight (damn, her ribs and spine are going to make her pay for this later) in for the second shove, the tree rolling a few inches and letting more murky grey light in. Yasha takes her sword off the wall and turns in in her hands before jamming the blade down into the wood with a grunt and pushing, using the leverage to roll the trunk away. The wood splits and her sword comes free, but the trunk gathers enough momentum to roll off down the slight hill. 

The ground is scorched as well as soaked, grass and moss curled and blackened. Yasha steps out into the rain, slinging her blade back onto her back. The rain rolls off her skin and Beau’s breath catches, because Yasha standing at the mouth of the cave outlines with storm clouds and actually smiling- if sadly- back at her is a  _ sight.  _ Beau stumbles out beside her, looking out over the grasslands towards Zadash. 

“You’ll find us again?” Part of Beau knows, or at least is fairly confident, that she will, but it helps to ask. Yasha looks back down from the skyline to her. 

“Of course. Here, or, wherever you wind up.” Yasha adjusts her pack and shawl. Beau nods and shifts from foot to foot. She feels like she should offer a hug or something, but both doesn’t want to initiate the contact and doubts it would be accepted. 

“Well, uh, see you later, then?” Beau puts on her best attempt at a smile despite the curling anxiety in her gut. Yasha opens her mouth and Beau cuts her off again. “And, please stay safe? I can’t stand to loose you again.” She’d really meant to say “we”, but the words are out of her mouth so fast and the way Yasha’s face softens immediately is worth the jolt of guilt. 

“I will. He wants me to come back to you- all of you. You.” Yasha stares intently at her feet. “He thinks this is the right path.” 

“Oh, cool.” Beau says, reeling a little. Her brain is stuck on replay. Beau isn’t quite sure how much silence passes before she kicks herself into talking again.  “Well, uh, we’ll miss you.” She nods more to herself than to Yasha, and starts to turn to climb the rocks back towards camp. A hand claps back on her shoulder before she can. 

“Beau.” Yasha’s voice is soft- anxious, Beau would guess, if she could trust her read on the woman. Beau swallows thickly. “This, this isn’t a good time for this. I don’t know there will  _ ever _ be a good time for this. I don’t-” Yasha shakes her head, shuffling forward a little. “I don’t think I care.” Yasha finally meets Beau’s eyes. Beau tilts her head in confusion, and then stiffles a gasp because Yasha leans down and in, and just barely brushes their lips together. Beau very nearly loses her footing, chasing Yasha’s lips with the few parts of her brain still functioning, before stumbling backwards a little, still within Yasha’s grasp. 

“Oh.” Is all she manages. Yasha gives her an apologetic look. 

“That’s, um, a promise. I don’t know exactly when I’ll be back- but soon. Next week, maybe. I’ll find you at the inn, if you’re still there. If not, leave word.” Yasha shuffles away a few feet from Beau’s stunned form. “I’m sorry, was that okay?” 

Beau makes a helpless noise and nods. Her hands find the ability to move again and she reaches out to Yasha, catches her before she can turn away and pulls her in for another kiss, firmer but just as sweet. Yasha comes away pink and smiling. 

“Okay.” Beau squeezes Yasha’s hand, mostly to ground herself. Yasha gives a last sad look and steps out of reach, and Beau watches as she hitches up her bag and walks away into the rain-soaked valley. 

She takes a good five minutes standing in the downpour touching her tingling lips before Yasha disappears behind a hill and she can convince herself that yes, that was real.

The giddy grin on her face lasts up until she returns to camp, and she manages to calm herself into a more pleasant smile, which still gets an odd look from Molly and a not-so-subtle raised eyebrow from Jester, to which Beau quietly promises her as many pastries as she can buy if she just stays quiet until they’re in a room in Zadash and can’t be overheard. 

The rain continues through the night, Beau’s watch uneventful, save for a lone lighting strike far to the west. She closes her eyes as the light imprints, the following rumble shaking her deep in her chest. The usual vague fear that follows doesn’t come this time. There’s a calmness to this storm, at least for Beau. Yasha is coming back. To them. To her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, please go and check out #critical robin on tumblr and here!

**Author's Note:**

> I am about to leave for a week in the woods as a part of college orientation, so the editing on this is a litttle bit rushed. Let me know if there are any glaring errors and I will get to fixing them once I have settled in!


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